Warm water rushes
down
tired limbs.
Goosebumps
form on naked skin
under warm rushing
water.
Eyes’ closed
breathing slows
down.
Stress falls,
soapsuds ball
unto the cool blue
ceramic tub.
Hair tumbles
long, black
down
olive back,
water washes clean.
Softly humming
music lifting
spirits.
Water ceases,
goosebumps increase
ten-fold
as icy air caresses.
Soft and safe,
warm embrace
of a towel folds
over and over.
Padding feet retreat
down a hall.
Soft and sweet,
bed and sleep.
Await, Beckoning.
quickened pace,
night erases,
the last marks
of a long day.
About the Creator
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More stories from Jamie Karagatsoulis and writers in Poets and other communities.
First Starlight of Summer
Your whole being is constituted by yearning. You miss the stars but have never seen a fully-realized night sky sparkle to life before your eyes. You write things, funny but short but profound, emulating the archaic cosmos that turns by its own unknowable calculus emulating love in all its celestial glory turning in that same cryptic way, but fully know neither and hardly know both, and it feels disingenuous, so you write about writers. It feels vaguely masturbatory, but it’s funny but short but profound and it impresses the people around you enough, so you run with it forever until you can’t anymore.
By Steven Christopher McKnight5 days ago in Fiction
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